When the Rose Fades
by naqaashi
Summary: Date Masamune's world was one of violence, bloodshed and conquest, and a woman who could not appreciate the sparse existence of a warrior had no place in it. But then he was roped into taking precisely such a woman as his wife. Masamune/OC, non-slash.
1. Deal

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya, is mine. **

**A/N: As a note of warning, the chapters will vary in length, and they will probably not be very long; most will be drabble-length. I have done my best to ensure that my heroine doesn't turn into a Mary-Sue, and that the romance grows at a believable rate. At the end of the day, all that I want is to write a realistic romance between two people who live in turbulent times with different ideologies. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**For ease of explanation – a _bukeyashiki_ refers to a traditional samurai mansion, such as the ones Date and Takeda live in, as shown in the anime. **

**Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.**

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><p><em>She arrives tomorrow.<em>

Date Masamune paced his dojo, preoccupied not with swords as was his custom, but with matters far more domestic and intimate than he was accustomed to thinking about.

_She arrives tomorrow. **Damn it**, what was I thinking? _

The answer to that, he reflected ruefully, was that he _hadn't_ been. Not that having all his faculties would have made any difference – his answer would have been the same. "I'd be honoured to marry your daughter, Etsuko-san."

How else was a man supposed to answer the plea of a bitter, soft-spoken lady with dead, desperate eyes? Masamune had the niggling suspicion that those eyes were precisely why Ichijou Dengyou, head of the Ichijou clan, had allowed his wife to make the request when such a duty would traditionally fall to the father of an unmarried girl.

_I would have refused. I should have, anyway._

And so it would have been, if it had been a man in front of him, begging him to take his daughter's hand in marriage. Date Masamune valued his freedom far too much to allow any man to maneuver him into accepting that sort of political match, but Ichijou Dengyou was a crafty old bird who knew better.

So he had sent his wife. Ichijou Etsuko – a faded beauty with nothing on her face save careful politeness that changed in a flash to despair and pain as soon as they were closeted in a private room for discussion.

_If only I'd had just a little warning. **Damn it, damn it all.**_

Masamune had been under the impression that the lady was visiting to negotiate control of a rather fertile and tactically advantageous tract of land that had been the cause of dispute between their two clans for some time now. She _had_, but the control came with a price, as the young lord of Oushu discovered a few minutes into the talk.

"Marry my daughter, Masamune-sama, and we will gladly give you control of that land you want so badly."

Such a simple plea. It should have been easy to refuse it. He'd been tempted to throw the woman out then and there; no one put conditions on his personal freedom. But perhaps she had sensed his distaste, because the next moment her mask had dropped, and Masamune found himself confronted with a terrified mother.

That was not the way diplomatic meetings were supposed to go, he had pointed out. Brash and battle-worn he might be, but he knew the protocol for such delicate debates.

She had shrugged wearily. "If not you, it'll be some other samurai. That's all these daughters are good for...political pawns. I had the same fate. My two elder daughters were no different. And if you will not have my youngest, there is no dearth of men who will. But," her voice softened and turned cajoling, "I would rather it be you...if anyone. She's young and idealistic; an older, more jaded man will only crush her soul. But you are young...just like my Akoya..."

"So?" he had sneered, fighting off uncomfortable stabs of guilt and chivalry.

"So," she had shrugged again, "this was a mother's wish to arrange a tolerable future for her last daughter. I had no say in what happened to the others...but if I have been given the opportunity to bargain for a better fate for Akoya, I will at least act on it. Once. She will do what a daughter must, but her delicate constitution might not survive the men her father has in mind for her."

Panicked at the rapidly escalating urged to do something stupid – like agree – Masamune had fled the chamber and hunted down Kojuurou, expecting that his retainer would take over from there and save him the trouble of an unwanted marriage.

But all that the older man had had to say on the mater was, "If she's young and healthy and comes of good blood, why not agree? You will need to marry someday, Masamune-sama. The Ichijous are a power-hungry lot, but they have never been associated with deceit or lies. If Etsuko-san asserts that you might make a good match for her daughter, I would be inclined to believe her."

Masamune could only gape at him.

"And if I recall...I have heard that the Ichijou girls are generally good-looking, well-trained ladies," Kojuurou had continued, before taking pity on on his lord. "Is she placing any restrictions on control of the land or our money and power?"

"No."

"It's a clear exchange?"

"Seems to be."

"Well, then?" Kojuurou had donned that implacable, _responsible_ look that Masamune hated, because it usually meant that he was going to be asked to do something equally troublesome and lordly.

And thus, he had been roped into playing the saviour, the honorable samurai. All for a woman he had never seen. A woman who would invade his sparse, warrior's life in less than a day and probably overturn it to something quieter. Tamer.

A woman who would, this time tomorrow, be his _wife._

_**Damn it all to hell!**_

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	2. Dumpling

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya, is mine. **

**A/N: For ease of explanation – a _shiro_ refers to a feudal Japanese fortress, like the one Toyotomi Hodeyoshi operates from, in the anime. **

**Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.**

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><p><em>Good-looking ladies, my ass. <em>

The deed was done; his fate sealed.

Date Masamune, Lord and Master of Oushuu, was officially a married man.

Ergo, he now had a lady wife.

At least, he _assumed_ it was a lady wife, because it was impossible to make out anything about the creature buried under what looked to be a whole year's supply of kimono and thick white face-paint and a hairstyle that resembled a flower-adorned shiro.

_Lady, indeed,_ the One-eyed Dragon snorted to himself. _More like dumpling. _A very cylindrical, brightly-coloured silk dumpling, to be exact, but he wasn't in the mood for such trivial details when there were other, far more pressing concerns weighing on him.

Such as getting his wife to speak to him. They had been married for all of an hour now, but the woman hadn't uttered a word since she'd stepped into his home. Masamune could accept that for better or worse, he was bound to her for the rest of his life; he just preferred 'better' rather than 'worse.'

_Perhaps she's just shy._

That had to be it, he ruminated, eyeing her with newfound pity. It had to be a difficult change for anyone, he supposed, and _he_ wasn't being asked to pack every last thing he owned and cart it off to some stranger's house at a moment's notice. The trouble was, he was notoriously bad at anything that required a tender hand, and he had a feeling that whipping out his swords with a rousing speech to accompany the gesture wouldn't go down well. At all.

_**Damn it**, where's my blasted retainer when I need him?_

The silk dumpling finally moved. Masamune found himself staring into large, dark eyes that blinked out of a spectrally white visage.

He shuddered and looked away, finding the image more than a little ghastly. _**Shit.**_

Belatedly, it occurred to him that he must have voiced his thoughts aloud. Ruffling his fingers through his hair, he attempted an explanation – not that she'd asked. Just stared at him like some spook out of a particularly nasty folktale.

"I'm not very good with these delicate situations, **you see?** Someone should have told you...eh, too late for it now. My retainer'll have your rooms ready by now. You wanna get some rest before we…uh…?" She stiffened visibly, and to his horror, he found that he couldn't say the words.

It was easy enough when it was a regular prostitute or teahouse girl. But for some reason, he couldn't talk about physical intimacy with this cold, white-painted little creature that didn't even look human.

Masamune scowled and called for Kojuurou. When the retainer arrived, he neatly dodged the concerned glance being sent his way and instructed the man to get his wife settled in her chambers.

"And ask some of the maids to help her clean up – that doesn't look comfortable and I'd rather look at a woman. Not a…" he waved his hand in wordless surrender and stalked out to the dojo for lack of anything better to do till the time came to consummate his marriage.

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><p><strong>Please review!<strong>


	3. Barter

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya (now Date Akoya), is mine. **

**A/N: This chapter is from Akoya's point of view. She's my first female OC, so I'm feeling my way 'round her, trying to get her characterisation right. I think I managed fine in this one, but the next one promises to be a pain in my butt. **

**ANYWAY! You finally get to meet the heroine and see what's going on in _her_ head! Hope you all like it.**

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><p>How strange it was, Akoya reflected, that she should feel so clean when she was minutes away from being defiled by a stranger. The maidservants had scrubbed her to within an inch of her life, peeling away the layers of her wedding kimono and face-paint, taking down her hair and rinsing it till it fell free of the combs and resin that held it in place.<p>

As she examined herself in the mirror – cotton sleeping yukata and hair in a long plait down her back – she felt just a smidgeon of amusement at the abject horror on her new husband's face when he'd first clapped eyes on her and his insistence that she be extracted from all her paraphernalia before he touched her.

_Eye. Just one._

The reminder brought with it anger and disdain. She had been numb with fulfilled horror to learn of her sudden nuptials, but she hadn't expected her parents to be so callous as to throw her away on a man who wasn't even _whole._ She had railed against them for days . Not outwardly; a girl raised in the Ichijou clan never made such public scenes, but she had refused to eat and go about her duties in the household.

Her mother had tried to reason with her. "Come, Akoya, you know you must be married soon! And the Date boy is young, powerful and healthy...it took all my pride to beg him to have you!"

Akoya had responded to each such attempt on her mother's part by descending into deeper silence and refusing to go out of her room.

Till her father had intervened. "It's either Date Masamune or Hojo Ujimasa for you, my girl. If you won't have the first...Hojo-san has shown an eager interest..." he had let the implications of it trail off, leaving her to reach her own conclusion.

She sighed now, shaking off the memory. It couldn't be undone now. A man she had had never seen nor heard of, or an ageing lecher who made it his business to get uncomfortably close every time he visited them. Akoya had not even had to weigh the scales to make her decision. _Better to battle the devil than drown in the sea, _she had thought to herself, and decided to marry Date Masamune as per her mother's wishes.

Even hours after her marriage, all she knew of him was that he had only one eye, dressed in battle armour day in and day out, or at least, she assumed he did, since he hadn't bothered to dress in a wedding outfit to greet her in. She knew he was young and had a deep, smooth voice that spoke in rough accents and was tinged with resentment even when he was trying to sooth her into talking to him earlier.

It had given her grim satisfaction to catch that unwilling note in his voice, to know that he didn't want to be saddled with her either. But now that she was waiting for him, dressed as per his wishes, waiting for him to come and make her his wife in every way, she found no comfort in it.

_If he did not wish to wed me, he will not care to be gentle tonight._

She forced herself to ignore the fear that came with that idea and think of ways to stop him from sleeping with her. The rational part of her knew that she had no hope of succeeding – a slim, unarmed woman against a battle-hardened samurai in the prime of his youth...there was no contest.

He would win. And he might be angry with her for daring to fight him, to deprive him of his conjugal rights. He owned her, after all. Her parents had foisted her on him in exchange for letting him have a precious tract of land.

"Marry our daughter, and we shall give you what you desire without a war" - that had doubtless been the deal.

She wasn't a wife, then, Akoya reflected bitterly. She was a possession. The price a man had to pay to preserve the lives of his troops.

_I have been bartered, in the interest of peace._

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><p><strong>So what's your first impression of Akoya? Review and tell me!<strong>


	4. Physical

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya (now Date Akoya), is mine. **

**A/N: Wedding night. This was a pain in the BUTT to write...showing the difference between physical perception and emotional reaction, from two different perspectives.**

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><p>A low click signalling the doors of her room being slid into place brought Akoya out of her musings. Her husband was reflected in the mirror, approaching her with something in his hand. Visions of swords and knives crossed her mind, and she turned to look at him properly.<p>

And blinked.

_My eyes must be deceiving me._

She blinked again, keeping her eyes closed for a moment before refocusing.

_This can't be right..._

Where was the warrior she had married? The man in flashy black-and-gold armour and face-obscuring helmet? Where was his strange blue suit? The bat-winged sword holders fixed to his hips? Where was all the energy she had sensed within him, snapping and crackling as though he was forever waiting to pounce on something?

Dazed, Akoya took in the sight of the young man confronting her now. Dressed in blue hakama and white haori, brown hair framing his face in sharp strands, he looked nothing like the warrior who had greeted her earlier. That man had carried a scent of leather and metal, wrapped in thick battle gear that made it impossible to make out much of his real form. This one appeared clean and well-formed, with strongly attractive features and a sharp blue eye that eyed her shamelessly.

_So this is what mother meant by young and healthy._ Akoya had to acknowledge that her husband was good-looking enough to turn any woman's head. _But that eye...how is he fit to do battle, to lead a region when he's half-blind?_ She repressed a shiver of vague disgust, not at the physical deformity – there wasn't much of it to see – but at the unworthiness it implied.

And then, with a flash of terrified revulsion, she recalled what he was here for.

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><p><em><strong>Damn, <strong>__Kojuurou was right._

Masamune hadn't been sure what to expect on the way to his wife's room, but it definitely wasn't _this._

"Well, well," he murmured, vision skating over her appreciatively, "what a difference a scrub-down can make...turned a dumpling into a woman."

She wasn't precisely his type – he preferred curvaceous, flirtatious women who knew how to sass their way around a man, but there was nothing displeasing about his average-height, slim, dark-haired wife. Kojuurou was going to get it later for exaggerating the physical perfection of Ichijou girls, of course – the woman couldn't be called beautiful – she lacked the vivacity which could turn a woman into a beauty. But she was pretty enough for him and he found himself looking forward to consummating his marriage.

It was something he was thankful for – he had never wanted to have a wife with whom sex would be just another duty to fulfill, especially as he wasn't sure he wanted to resort to concubines for physical gratification. His sense of fairness would dictate that he let his wife have lovers of her choice as well in that case, and that just wouldn't be practical unless he wanted cuckoos in his nest.

She was growing aware of his gaze and stiffening again, he noticed. A slight jolt of pity hit him, but he brushed it off. Kojuurou had warned him that virgin brides tended to be skittish on the wedding night, fearing pain and a rough hand. Masamune understood the vulnerability an untutored woman would feel, but this had to happen sooner or later. It would be his job to seduce her fears away and turn her receptive to his touch, then.

_Perhaps I'll start with a kiss._

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><p><strong>Review, please! And tell me how you felt about the whole thing!<strong>


	5. Smelly

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya, is mine. **

**A/N: Japanese women refer to their husbands by many terms, such as **_anata_**(you, dear), **_danna_** (master), **name-_sama_** (the honorific denotes his higher stature and respect she is giving him), **_shujin_** (the same thing as **_**danna**_**, more or less. But while **_**danna**_** is used when speaking of your husband in the third person, **_**shujin**_** is used when speaking to him directly). **

_Ohagura_** refers to a custom of teeth-blackening which was done by Japanese boys and girls at their coming of age ceremonies. I've taken some liberties with this, as it seems that it was done quite early in life. It was only AFTER the Edo period that this custom became restricted to married women, unmarried women over the age of 18 and so on…mostly "older" people. In the era Sengoku Basara takes place in, Akoya would have had her teeth blackened in her early teens, long before marriage. Buuuuut….this is **_**Basara**_** we're talking about, which is canonically a complete anachronism stew. So I felt okay messing around with the timeline of the custom a bit – plus I needed it for comic effect. _**

**Apart from the time liberty I've taken, I apologise if there are errors; my research was restricted to the internet. I've tried to be accurate, but I may have slipped and I appreciate corrections if I have!**

**Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.**

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><p>He padded up to her on silent feet, stopping just shy of their bodies touching. "Look up," came the soft order.<p>

Obediently, Akoya raised her eyes to the ceiling.

Masamune gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head. _Of course she wouldn't know…_ He tried again, "Look at me."

She resumed her earlier stance – staring at the lapels of his haori. She felt rather than heard him huff in exasperation. "At _me_, I said."

"I am looking at you." Briefly, she toyed with the idea of addressing him as shujin, or even Date-sama. Just as swiftly, it was discarded. _I refuse to lower myself further._

"You're looking at my chest."

"You did not specify where I should look; only that I look at you." The sulky part of her delighted in goading this man – provoking him into losing his temper. The saner part was horrified at the possible repercussions.

Masamune gave his wife a measured look, with the eyes of a warrior and not a new husband. Her shoulders were stiff, chin rigid, lips carefully held in an even line. She wasn't just afraid or shy, the young samurai realised. She was feeling mutinous.

_Well, now. This changes a lot._ He wasn't quite certain what to make of it, but the time to raise objections were past. They were bound together now, and bound they would remain. A slight unease nudged his conscience, but the pragmatism with which he dealt with spilt milk told it to stand down. For better or worse, this woman had allowed herself to become his wife.

She had made her bed.

All he had to do was persuade her to lie in it.

A tired sigh escaped him. Masamune enjoyed seduction as a rule; it made bedtime exciting and added an edge of intimacy to such encounters, prolonging pleasure. He just wished it didn't have to be so much work when his _own_ _wife_ was the woman he was taking to bed. _**Damn it. **__Less talking then, and more doing. _

Swiftly raising her chin so that she was forced to meet his eye, Masamune lowered his head, angling for her lips. _Keep it gentle. Soft and gentle. __**Let's keep this cool **__before heating it up._

And then they parted, revealing the inside of a black pit of tar.

"**What the hell?"**

Letting go with a jerk, the One-Eyed Dragon staggered back from his wife in horror. His slender, unarmed, harmless looking wife who had a mouth that looked and smelled like the blackest night in hell.

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><p>It was with no small amount of vicious amusement that Akoya watched her husband scramble back from her like she was a rabid animal.<p>

"Good grief, didn't you have the maids help you clean up?" he was barking, face twisted in disgust.

She schooled her expression to polite bemusement. "They did, but the ohaguro ceremony is an inevitable consequence of marriage."

He shuddered. "Get rid of it!"

"It is the mark of a married woman."

He glared at her, sharp and irritated. "Get. Rid. Of. It. How am I supposed to get near you with your mouth looking like some portable hell?"

_A-ha!_ It couldn't be possible, Akoya tried to pinch herself mentally, shake out of this insanity. But the wide-eyed revulsion on Masamune's face was real and she grasped it like a vital lifeline. It was her only route of escape. Praying for it to materialise, she repeated, "It is the mark of a married woman." And hoped that he would not understand the hidden implication.

However, as she watched, he settled back into his confident lines, danger swirling in his blue-grey gaze. "You refuse to remove that…knowing I won't touch you unless you do."

It wasn't a question. It was an assessment. He had deduced what she was about, how she was clutching at the chance to get out of doing her wifely duty.

Fear clenched her gut when he approached her, grabbing her chin again. This time the touch was hard and implacable, and she gasped as he clunked the water jug before her and repeated his demand in a voice that rang with clout.

Unable to oppose the force of his presence, she was halfway through cleaning the gunk out of her teeth before she comprehended that she was doing it. _It appears I will have to suffer through it after all. _She regretted the attempt to stage a little rebellion. Judging by his behaviour when he had entered, he had been prepared to be accommodating, if not gentle.

_Had_ been. Now he was angry…angry at the veiled insult, the audacity she had shown in acting on her unwillingness. If he had been accommodating before, Akoya thought miserably, he would probably ease his samurai pride with sadistic cruelty now.

There was no more hope of a tolerable wedding night. She had managed to infuriate her husband within minutes of their first lone encounter, and a samurai would not forgive such a breach of conduct or challenge to his authority. Not even a half-blind excuse for a warrior. _In fact,_ Akoya reflected as she rinsed out her mouth a last time, _an incomplete man will take it out on me even more brutally than he has to, for he appears to have the brains to judge why I find him repulsive. _

Resigning herself to a painful and humiliating fate, she cleared the water and bowl away, and turned to face the frustrated predator she had foolishly needled.

_He will break my body tonight, I know. It will probably not be the only time. He will return again for more and more. But no matter how many times he takes his disgusting pleasure from me, he will not break my spirit._

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><p><strong>Please review and tell me what you thought!<strong>


	6. Execution

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya (now Date Akoya), is mine. **

**A/N: Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.**

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><p>Hard, calloused fingers traced the curve of her cheek, trailing down her neck and hooking the lapels of her kimono. Akoya held herself still through the touch, breathing slowly and deeply, assimilating the sensation.<p>

_It's warm,_ she thought with some surprise. Warm and firm. _Doesn't hurt, either._ She wondered if her husband's anger had diffused far enough for him to regain his former tolerant equilibrium, then tossed it away as an unlikely possibility. In her experience, samurai did not forgive – or forget – easily. _They don't forget at all._

So when he asked in that smooth, low voice if she had any objections to him touching her the way he was, she forced herself to shake her head and indicate acquiescence. But she still wouldn't look him in the eye for fear of what she'd find there. She didn't want to see the lust and anger and spite that would no doubt be painted on his face as he ravished her.

"No objections, huh?" he remarked, a note of derision in his words. "What changed your tune?"

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her round the waist and pulled her close to his hard, unyielding body. She felt the breath leave her in a frightened gasp and the soft brown strands of his hair tickle her face as he lowered his head to nip sharply at her ear. A yelp of pain and horror escaped her and tears prickled at her eyelids at the rough treatment.

"Still no objections?" he inquired again, scorn bleeding through every syllable.

"N-no," she stammered, hoping he would believe her this time.

The next thing she knew, he had flung her on the futon behind them, uncaring if the fall hurt her, uncaring that her yukata was gaping open to display her legs in an undignified sprawl.

_Heaven help me, I'm going to be ravaged. Help me!_

But the weight she was expecting, the alien weight of a ruthless male body, did not crush her in the next moment. As she lay there, stifling sobs and pretending agreement to everything he had done and was going to do, he did not let himself cover her and take her.

When she finally cracked her eyes open to look for him, perhaps plead with him to get it over with quickly, the room was empty.

No husband.

No one at all.

_Where did he go? What is he doing? Did he get tired of this and decide to seek a more willing woman? _

Akoya sat up in a daze, wondering if she was walking into a nightmare or _out_ of one.

Seconds later, she had answer.

Not that nightmare. Another one.

Her husband was back, and he was armed. A braver woman might have felt joy at the sight of the sharp blade, because it could have only one meaning. But Akoya had never been particularly eager to lose her life and she did not eye death beckoning her as a friendly gesture on fate's part.

She wanted to live. Even if life came at the cost of nightly terror and ownership by a samurai, she wanted it. Too late, she realised how badly she had erred in going against her husband without giving him a chance. She could have had a workable marriage if she had played along on his terms.

_Perhaps if I grovel for forgiveness, he'll let me live?_

To a wiser woman, that would have been the obvious way out of such a situation. For Akoya, staring into the angry, disgusted face of the killer she had married, there was no such luxury. Her pride would not allow it and she suspected that neither would his.

"_I want to live!" _was what she wanted to think, to scream and weep and choke out.

But her final thought as Date Masamune raised the sword high over her head and brought it down in a precise arc towards her neck was – _I'm going to die._

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	7. Fight

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya (now Date Akoya), is mine. **

**A/N: Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.**

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><p><em>Swish.<em>

Akoya heard the hiss of the blade swooping through the air. In a moment, the sharp steel would slice through her skin, cleaving through flesh and bone to release her head from her body in a spray of blood.

She wondered if it would hurt. If it would take enough time for her to feel the metal separating her from life, or if it would be over so swiftly that she would open her eyes to find out that the strike had fallen and that she was just a ghost, wafting over her dead body because she hadn't even realised she was dead.

She wondered, and wondered why she couldn't decide what sort of death she wanted. If she would prefer pain and knowledge to a quick execution. She wondered why, in this last moment of her meagre life, she could think so fast that her thoughts ran into one another and yet managed to stay in a straight line.

The blade touched the side of her neck.

She expected...nothing, still trying to wonder what to expect. All she could think was, _Ichijou...no...Date Akoya dies here,_ and yet...

Yet...

Still, yet.

She knew, even as she thought what must surely be her very final words, she knew that she wasn't dead.

_But why?_

Her eyes snapped open and she stared at Masamune, standing above her with cold eyes and curiosity on his face, the edge of his sword grazing her throat.

Unable to thank the gods for their kindness, unable to comprehend anything except his sudden decision to let her live, Akoya had to know. "Why...why didn't you...?" she choked, throat dry with residual shock and fear.

Masamune tilted his head, hair obscuring the leather eyepatch he wore. "Still no objection? Want to die that bad? Don't you give a shit about what I do to you?" he growled.

"No!" Adrenaline shot through her limbs and she scuttled back to get away from him.

"Still going to fight me?" he asked, eyeing her ungainly movements with a raised eyebrow.

Akoya couldn't answer that. Not without thinking it over. It was strange – after the experience she had just had, she should have immediately shaken her head and said "No, never, shujin!"

But she just couldn't bring herself to say it, to give ownership of herself so explicitly.

He moved, raising the sword again. "Well?"

_What do I say? I should say no. I should say no. Let me say it. Say it! Say it now! Heavens above, why can't I say it? Why can't I say it?_

Her mouth worked like a fish's, flapping open and shut with soundless gasps of breath, but no agreement or refusal to appease her husband. The complete disgrace of the circumstances – she was cowering on the futon, clinging to the floor in terrified pride and desperation to live – closed in on her, suffocating every other sense.

"**Damn it."**

The words, spoken in a strange foreign language, were frustrated – and oddly gentle. The alien sound of them broke through the haze that was muffling her ability to think and act, and she came back to her surroundings like a swimmer breaking the water with great life-giving gulps of air.

"What are you saying?" she asked weakly.

Masamune shook his head, shrugging the question off. The sword dropped from his hand as he knelt near her, pulling her upright. "Scared you too much, eh?"

She flashed a startled look at him. _Scared me too much? What this some sort of newly-wed prank?_ But that couldn't be right, logic asserted. She had behaved outrageously and his anger had been very real.

He poured her some water and she accepted warily, downing it with gratitude. When she set the bowl down, he was watching her with that predator's gaze again. _No more of this madness..._ Disorientation nipped at the margins of her slowly gathering composure; she took herself in hand before it could set in further.

"You didn't want to marry me, did you?" he asked.

Akoya nodded, simply because she thought he was owed honesty.

He ran a hand over his face. "We'll...**damn it all,**we'll get into the why and how of that later. Right now, tell me and tell me the _truth_, woman," he said harshly. "Do you plan on doing your duty, or are you going to fight me?"

Akoya gaped at him. "Are you offering me a choice?"

He snorted. "Hardly."

"Then what difference does it make...unless you mean to say that you won't hurt me if I stop fighting you."

The glint in his eye intensified till it morphed into the unmistakable shine of a warrior charging into battle. "Oh-o. So you _were_ fighting. You still are." He mulled on it for a moment, then scoffed, "Heh, what a waste. You can't even do that right."

She eyed him in confusion.

"You," he bit out, "are the most useless excuse for a human being I've ever seen. And I've seen _plenty_ of those. Needling me one minute, crying in terror the next 'cause they can't handle the heat. The One-Eyed Dragon doesn't play to lose. **You see?**"

Without a second look at her, he gathered his sword and its sheath and slid the shoji door open.

Just before letting himself out, he stopped, turned, and gave her a searching look. She met his eyes squarely; bemusement had washed away most of her fear and self-pity, leaving behind nothing but steady defiance in their wake. He caught the silent challenge in her face, and once again stumped her expectations by nodding in approval.

"**Good girl. **You found your spirit...and here I was scared you were going to let me walk all over you like this damn tatami."

_He was scared? Him?_ Her temper sparked and she snapped, "Glad to know you're such a half-baked man that a defenceless woman scares you enough to make you kill her." _And hang the consequences. I'll fight him physically if he comes at me again._

Masamune smirked at her. "You're alive, woman. Which you wouldn't be if I really wanted your head on a pike."

"So you make idle threats to get your underlings to conform to your wishes?"

The smirk on his face widened till it was a mocking grin. "Underlings, yes. Wife, not so much."

She shook her head in irritation and settled herself more comfortably on the bedding, rearranging the folds of her yukata till her legs were decently covered.

"Hey."

The call was soft and almost polite, and so was his gaze.

"What?"

"I'm the One-Ey..." He stopped mid word, closed his eye, took a deep breath and quirked his lips in a whimsical half-smirk.

She waited. When nothing was forthcoming, she stated, more out of curiosity than any real terror of what he would do – if it infuriated him, then it would and she would take that chance to regain her pride – "I should be a dutiful wife. But I did not wish to marry you and I cannot give myself to you...a man I do not care to know or respect. I will fight you."

The battle-light in his eye grew brighter. The sword twitched in his hand, light glancing off the naked steel and blinding her for a moment with the fierce hint of fire hidden within it. Within _him._ "Then fight me _properly._"

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><p><strong>I couldn't resist writing more! So here it is...an early resolution to the cliffhanger. What do you guys think?<strong>


	8. Sulk

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya (now Date Akoya), is mine. **

**A/N: As said before, a _bukeyashiki_ is a traditional samurai residence. _Shoji_ are the sliding frame doors particular to Japanese residences. **

**Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.**

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><p>IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE FOR ALL OF YOU<strong> – <strong>

**I have ventured into the territory of Masamune/Yukimura fanfics! It is called **Beloved**, an ongoing collection of 100 one-shot stories about Masamune and Yukimura. **

Beloved** is actually a companion collection to **Loved**, which is written by my friend **lyrainthedark**. Like **Beloved**, every story on **Loved** is also Masamune/Yukimura. Both collections are counterpoints to each other – we basically took 100 prompts and 100 premises/themes to go with prompts. Then we got down to writing our own interpretations of those. The result – these ongoing twin collections of DateSana goodness! **

**To read our collections, go to my profile!** Beloved** is on my own published fics list, and** Loved** is on my favourites!**

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><p>Masamune stalked down the corridor, the heavy thud of his footsteps betraying the grim tilt to his thoughts to Kojuurou, who stopped and stared in blank amazement at the sight of his leader stomping around the bukeyashiki when he should have been busy seducing his new wife.<p>

_Perhaps it is the wrong time of the month?_ That would explain the Dokuganryu's palpable irritation – no man liked hearing _those_ words right when he was set to go all hot and bothered. Even so, it was unlike Masamune to leave a woman in the lurch simply because she was indisposed for a few nights; he tended to bide his time with talk and games, getting to know her better to open the way for wanton intimacy once she was able. _So why isn't he chatting up his wife to make her more comfortable with him?_ Abandoning his vegetables to the night sky, Kojuurou jogged across the courtyard on light feet to catch Masamune before the latter could vanish into his room.

"Masamune-sama! Is something not to your liking?"

To his surprise, the one-eyed man barely grunted at him before slamming the shoji door closed, leaving him to blink at it in consternation.

_What in heaven's name…?_ Kojuurou instinctively felt himself going into parent-mode, concern and exasperation taking over his natural propensity for formality and protocol. Ignoring all laws of politeness, he followed his leader into the room, frowning when Masamune didn't even turn to acknowledge him.

_This looks like a full-blown sulk._ And Masamune in a full-blown sulk was an uncommunicative _nightmare_.

Kojuurou sighed and called for sake – this was going to take a long while to sort out.

_Good grief, Akoya-sama, just what did you do to him?_

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><p><strong>Review, please!<strong>


	9. Freedom

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya (now Date Akoya), is mine. **

**A/N: Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.**

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><p>"You did what?" Kojuurou's horrified voice broke the silence that followed Masamune's narration of the events of his wedding night.<p>

The Oushuu chief shrugged, prompting an outraged huff from his retainer.

"Masamune-sama! A samurai does not point a sword at his wife for no reason at all! Especially not a new wife who is young and probably has no idea how to conduct herself!"

"A samurai," Masamune bit out, "usually doesn't end up with a terrified cold fish instead of a wife, either. At least, not one who shows it." When Kojuurou made as if to interrupt, he held up a staying hand. "No. You advised me into this marriage, and now I'm stuck with a woman who detests the sight of me for some reason I can't fathom. So you'll let me deal with this mess _my_ way. **You see?**"

"I would if I didn't have to worry about you carving the girl up with your six claws if she doesn't shape up," his retainer muttered, looking as if he didn't know whom to hold responsible for the fiasco – his lord or his lady.

Masamune looked at him surprise. "Who the hell said she has to 'shape up'?"

Kojuurou blinked at him. "I…don't understand, Masamune-sama…don't you want a wife? If Akoya-sama refuses to do her duty as your-" He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly petrified by the chilling anger in the blue-grey gaze that confronted him.

"She's my _wife_ whether or not she chooses to do this 'duty' you're so fixated on."

Kojuurou braved through the glare his lord was leveling at him and pressed his case. "You will need an heir. It seems easy to give in to her whims now…but what will you do if she refuses to budge at all?"

Masamune shrugged again, remarkably careless for a man who had just been told that the future of his dynasty could lie in tatters if he didn't force his wife to behave. "We'll work something out."

"Conjure an heir from the air?"

The Dokuganryu let it go. He didn't have to like the ideas his usually sensible retainer was flinging around, but he could hardly order the man gagged for speaking his views. From a purely practical viewpoint, he could even appreciate the unsubtle suggestion Kojuurou was making. Openly cringing wives were uncommon among the nobility, but they weren't unheard of. Most were tamed into obedience by their husbands, and didn't make a peep of trouble unless they wanted to lose their lives.

The trouble was, the idea of raping or beating a woman into giving up her body made him want to vomit.

_Is it some weakness in me? _

He didn't know. All he knew for certain was that he didn't share his fellow daimyo's easy ownership of their womenfolk.

_Maybe I am weak. I can't even control a woman._

But then, he had never wanted to. He was a free spirit, going where his will led him and staking his future on nothing but himself. Once, people had tried to muffle him, squash his desire and ambition.

_Not people. Mother._

Because he hadn't fit her ideal of manhood. Because one eye had come between him and perfection – and if she believed that without physical perfection one should not attempt to reach for the heavens, then by the gods, he was to follow her edicts or be incarcerated.

_Heh. **Crazy control freak.**_

This wasn't about his unruly young wife at all.

_Well, perhaps it is._ _A little. _

Still, his primary reason for not doing the sane thing was that he would have to take away her freedom in order to do it. Freedom was a precious thing. A man could choose his own destiny, but a woman was forever bound to her man. Masamune looked at his future – barren of children or love, the years melting into cold seasons of resentment from a woman who – _rightly_, his conscience interjected – loathed the loss of her limited freedom.

It was a future he did not want.

But he was a man who had made his own way of life, and he would be damned before he pulled a hypocritical about-face and dictated how a woman should live hers.

_Just because she's a woman. _

But he knew that he wouldn't bother if she was "just a woman," or even someone else's woman.

_Then because she is my wife. The wife of the Dokuganryu. _

A wife with wide, scared eyes that tried to balance life against death, because she wasn't afraid to admit that the former was precious.

A wife who tried to be brave, though she scarcely knew how, because she didn't want to go down without a fight.

A wife that he suspected he would come to enjoy, if she let him close enough.

_Well, why not?_

She wanted to be free of him…didn't she? Even if she hadn't voiced it, her actions had spoken loudly enough to cover any doubts. He couldn't set her loose into the world – she was his responsibility now. But he could grant her a unique gift.

_A free man…should have a free woman by his side. _

But what he dared not think about yet, even to himself, was the silently damning admission in the secret heart of his desires.

_If you give this woman freedom, mayhaps she'll give you her love. _

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><p><strong>Pweesey? Review?<strong>


	10. Curve

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya (now Date Akoya), is mine. **

**A/N: Any Engrish that Date uses will be in ****bold type. **

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><p>The shoji flew open with a rattling crash, causing Akoya to leap out of sleep, her bedding, and almost her skin. Gasping in startled fright, the young woman looked about wildly with sleep-laden eyes, searching for the intruder. By the time her vision focused, he was sitting cross-legged on her futon, clutching his sides in glee.<p>

For the first time in her life, she wanted to commit murder. Moreover, she told him so. His laughter stemmed at that, and he eyed her in bemusement.

"Never?"

"What?" she snapped, acutely aware of her semi-dressed state. The sleeping yukata was decent, but so..._clingy_, which hadn't escaped her husband's attention, much to her discomfort. "And stop eyeing me like I'm a side of prime beef!" Akoya added, her desire to squirm back into her blankets firmly offset by her desire to be as far from him as geographically possible.

"And just why not?" the incorrigible man asked. "It's not as if I'm allowed to do any more than look – so look my fill I shall." His lips curved then, disturbingly sensual and confident. **"You see?"** he murmured, tracing the curve of her hip below the tightly bound sash with a glint in his gaze that she didn't care to decipher.

_I wonder if that's a compliment or just his way of being a nuisance,_ Akoya wondered helplessly, clueless about what to make of it all. In the scant three weeks she had been at Oushu, she had been treated well, if distantly. No one disturbed her – Save her husband. No one intruded on her privacy – save her husband. No one made her feel like a prize fool – save her husband.

And he accomplished all that mostly by appearing when he was least wanted and teasing her into impotent rage till all she was capable of doing was either throwing something at him (Which he'd proven adept at catching), or worse – stamping her foot and wailing (which would no doubt encourage him).

At the moment, the young lady of Oushu considered herself extremely fortunate on having successfully avoided disgracing herself completely by _not_ succumbing to the latter urge, and settling for stony snappiness instead.

_But at this rate, I'll turn into a fishwife! _her inner self wailed.

"So, you've never wanted to kill someone before today?" Masamune asked her again, having decided that he'd given her enough hell for the present.

Akoya shook her head, all seriousness.

"That...I'm finding that hard to believe."

"You would. You are a killer by trade, after all." It slipped out before she could stop it - the first indication she had given him of her very real reasons behind her rejection of their marriage.

Silence enveloped them, punctuated by the distant shouts of men training in the dojo. The mirth was gone from the room, leaving something not quite cold, not quite terrible. Some thing uncomfortable and twitching, waiting to implode – or sleep forever.

Finally, Masamune raised his eyes to her, strangely contemplative. "You loathe violence, don't you?"

Akoya nodded, too surprised by his perceptiveness to lie or excuse herself.

"Then why did you agree to marry me, a samurai?"

The honest curiosity in his face softened her too; she relaxed in his presence for the first time. "The alternative was horrible."

He cocked his head, waiting.

"Hojo Ujimasa," she supplied, a dart of pleasure hitting her heart when he winced in sympathy.

But she wasn't getting away with it that easily. "So you decided to marry me – knowing you'd be trapping me in this farce of a...whatever the **hell** it is we've got here?" The understanding in Masamune's eyes did not temper the sharp force of his anger as he latched onto the idea that she had used him as escape – and failed to live up to her side of the marriage deal.

Three weeks ago, on that terrible first night together – when she'd repulsed him and driven him away – and wrecked them both – she would have agreed in a heartbeat. She wouldn't have cared what he would think.

The days since, when she had been accorded time and respect and mostly – solitude – had given her a grudging respect for the man she had married. There were so many things he could have done to her for the way she had behaved, yet what he had _chosen_ was to leave her be and meet him on her own terms.

In a strange way, Akoya felt freer in her new home with this stranger than she had with the parents who had loved and nurtured her. _I owe him honesty, at the least._ "I would not have rejected you, Date-san, if I had not been given that choice," she acknowledged, partly apprehensive and mostly amused. _Let us see what you do when you find out that you are the architect of your own entrapment!_

What he did, in her imagination, was combust at once.

What he did, the reality sitting warm and mussed before her, was blink at her with a wide blue-grey eye, and dissolve into honey-smooth chuckles of calm hilarity.

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><p>Review and tell me what you think, please!<p> 


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